The Indefinite Crystallization
by paintedfractals
Summary: "He was much too easygoing for her, and she had duties to attend to. There was also the enormous problem of him being immortal- she did not have the years to squander on a white-haired boy who would leave her in the end."


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Frozen or Rise of the Guardians- all rights belong to their respective owners.

**A/N: **My first official post on FanFiction. Please leave a review if you liked it or have constructive criticism regarding the storyline or my writing.

**Update: **Thank you all so much for the reads and reviews. I'm ecstatic that you all enjoy the story, as that is my main goal when writing fanfiction. I'm going to be starting a multi-chapter Frozen/Rise of the Guardians story, so if you have any ideas, please drop me a PM or leave your idea in a review if you like! Thank you and enjoy.

His eyes crinkle with delight as he observes carefree children; her lids remain closed while her emotions spiral out of control.

He basks in the appreciation and company of his fellow guardians; she endures endless nights alone in her private chambers.

Everything about them clashes. His boyish charm completely contradicts her cool demeanor; his childish pranks and actions shock the practical queen (but she suppresses a smile, because seeing Weselton obliterated by snowballs was just **too **much, really).

When they first encountered one another, she knew it would never work. He was much too easygoing for her, and she had duties to attend to. There was also the enormous problem of him being immortal- she did not have the years to squander on a white-haired boy who would leave her in the end.

But when he kissed her for the first time, everything changed.

Maybe, she thinks, it was the way he closed his hands over hers, and the way he smiled sweetly.

Maybe it was because he simply pressed his lips to hers and pulled away, with no hidden motives or push for desire.

But deep down she knows that it's none of those things. It's the fact that for the first time in forever someone else was as cold as her; someone else was able to touch the ice queen.

Someone finally made her feel warm.

…

He watches her sometimes. There's just something so comforting to him in observing the queen in sleep; her guard down, at peace. He likes to imagine she dreams of him (but he knows she's pouring over trade agreements and unsent letters).

Once he'd slipped under the covers with her- just for a quick moment, really- just to see what it was like. Of course she'd wake at the most inopportune moment, rushing him out of the room in a blaze of fists and screams. She didn't speak to him for a month.

He desperately wants this to work- he's tired of giving the happy endings and tired of being pushed aside and just tired. Exhaustion is his old comrade, but he desires love instead.

But he knows it's hopeless. For every declaration of adoration he sends her way gets matched with a biting intake of breath or if he's lucky, a kiss on the cheek.

Even so, he can't stop going back to her.

He's fallen. Hard.

…

One night, as they sit outside talking, he asks her why she still entertains him. The queen does not respond immediately, instead folds her hands neatly and thinks for several moments.

"You make me feel… different," she says, warming his hand with hers.

The answer doesn't suffice for him but she refuses to elaborate.

He lets it go.

…

The next time he brings up the state of their own union is one year later; standing in her room early in the morning. She sinks gingerly onto her bed (because this conversation is going to be heated and she doesn't know what will become of it).

"I'm starting to hate you," he begins. His eyes lower to the floor and the window frosts over.

She sighs because she knows and it's killing her. They haven't spoken in several months.

"I don't think I should visit anymore." The floor becomes icy, her drapes freeze solid.

And her protests rise up in her throat but she can't force them any further. So she does the only thing she can with this boy: the one who loves her more than anyone, even Anna. She kisses him.

Her arms wrap around his neck and she stands on his toes to show that she wants him to stay with her. A heavy thump reverberates about the bedroom as his hands release his staff in favor of her waist.

They are broken but whole.

…

She disappears two years later. It takes him weeks to find her.

"Elsa?" She's sitting on a cliff and displaying snowy images overarching the ravine below. He glimpses the two of them, Anna, and her parents in the cascading flakes.

Her head does not turn towards his voice, instead she pats the snow next to her and pulls her knees to her chest.

When he slides next to her a small part of him wants her to lean into him and sob. He wants to comfort her and tell her he'll never leave her: he'll be her best friend and lover and anything she wants him to be.

"I love you."

Eyes go wide and the spirit's mouth drops wide when her admittance registers.

And he can't help but let out a cry of triumph and burst up in the air because she loves him she loves him she loves HIM.

When he descends from the air, her porcelain face is still not smiling. He holds her hands to his mouth and provides her with warmth, silently begging her to respond.

Ever so slowly, she winds her body into him. It feels so perfect to him, even after over a year of physicality between the two. He kisses her nose and cheeks and anywhere he can find with affection, chuckling when her cheeks redden.

It's beautiful.

…

She spends four years with him, allowing him to whisk her away on impromptu trips to Asia, Australia, and anywhere he decides. They sleep in her bed, twisted together like branches of the aged tree outside the palace. He stays present for all of her yawn-inducing activities (hidden to the non-believing eye, of course). Together, they are one.

But when the golden years pass, she cannot deny that she looks visibly older than him. He assures her she is beautiful, that the way he feels is more than skin deep. She cringes as cheesy clichés roll off his tongue but smiles at his honest rambles.

Still, their time is almost up.

…

One month before her twenty-sixth birthday, she lies next to him in the snow and nudges him gently. The grin adorning his face falls when he notices her expression.

"Jack, we can't be together anymore," she states simply, and tears still refuse to fall.

When he protests she holds up her hand, delivering the hardest speech of her life. Her logical, well-rehearsed words abruptly stop when the man she loves so dearly starts crying.

His voice cracks, "Please." Barely a whisper of words hold him together, and she shakes her head.

When she stands and brushes the snow off of her cape, he considers running after her and continuing the chase.

But he doesn't.

He knows it's pointless; he knows his lover well enough to accept the fact that she has moved on.

But he hasn't.

And he's doubtful he ever will.

…

Seventy years later, she's on her death bed.

He observes her thoughtfully through the window for the first time since they parted. He grimaces as her face contorts into pain, wincing as life slowly drains from her eyes.

But when she notices the slight figure outside, her smile illuminates the room.

"Jack," she murmurs, beckoning him inside. He enters her bed chamber like he did hundreds of times in years past; kneels by the mattress and envelopes her wrinkled hand in his own youthful skin.

And when he kisses her for the last time, they know that they are eternal.

…


End file.
